


She's Got a Way About Her

by LydiaOLydia



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Season/Series 02 Spoilers, Strange fluff, auditory hallucinations, gratuitous Billy Joel references, trigger warning?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-04-25 18:27:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4971691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydiaOLydia/pseuds/LydiaOLydia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jake has a secret superpower.  Kind of.  Okay, so he might experience auditory hallucinations when he kisses a woman for the first time.  That's normal, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	She's Got a Way About Her

**Author's Note:**

> I was thinking about pop culture touchstones, 80s music, and Jake being a secret romantic and . . . something really strange popped into my head that I had to write. Feel free to think of it as an alternate universe.
> 
> I hope no one feels I'm mocking the idea of "hearing things" because that's not my intention. It's been know to happen to a lot of people in different life conditions. If the idea of auditory hallucinations is triggering or upsetting in any way, please feel free to steer clear. 
> 
> This spans a long period of time, but it tracks chronologically with the show so it won't be too hard to follow, I hope.

Okay, maybe Taylor Swift made Jake feel things, but Billy Joel was encoded deep in his emotional DNA. He blamed his mother. All kinds of music filled his house growing up, but William Martin Joel was her favorite.

His first sense memory? Bare feet on golden shag carpet and “Captain Jack” on the stereo. And it went on from there. Mom blared “My Life” over and over again when his dad left. He and Gina had jumped around on the couch every time "We Didn’t Start the Fire" came on MTV. But it was more than “Piano Man” being his go to karaoke song. Waaay more.

Jake Peralta had a Billy Joel song for every girl he’d ever kissed. He can’t explain it or understand it. He doesn’t make the choice. It just happens. It was kind of his secret super power.

It started when he was twelve years old, first kiss, Gina Linetti, house party at Amanda Denunzia's. Amanda sent them to the closet for Seven Minutes in Heaven. They sat on someone’s old fake fur coat and gave it their all. It tasted wet and messy and Gina definitely should have ditched her watermelon Bubbilcious, but he was getting into it, until a rippling piano sound broke his concentration.

He pulled away. “Gina, do you hear music? “

“No duh.” Gina smacked her mouth. “'Keep Ya Head Up.' I love this jam. You look weird. Is it my lip gloss? Dr. Pepper is the best flavor. So don't try to talk me out of it.”

He frowned. The piano had been replaced by the smooth flow of Tupac. “Ditch your gum and kiss me again.”

Gina sighed and tacked her gum to the closet door (he wasn’t even going to think about that). The song didn’t play the second time (and last) time they kissed. Their “romance” didn’t even last till the end of the party.

When he got home, he flipped through his mother’s record collection, humming, and figured it out. The music was the opening bars of “New York State of Mind. “ So weird. He thought about telling Gina, telling his mom, telling someone, but he realized quickly it was bad idea. It had to be a one time thing. Someone had spiked the punch bowl. Yeah, that was it.

But the pattern repeated itself. The song was never the same. It was only during the first kiss. He learned to stretch a kiss out so he can get to lyrics. Yes, there were lyrics. Billy Joel singing in his head was awesome and not strange at all.

Jenny Gildenhorn (“She’s Always a Woman To Me” of course). Liz Almont ("Just the Way You Are") when he had a growth spurt after asthma camp. Virginia Stratton (“Only the Good Die Young” Nice.) Karen Litzenberger, his first serious girlfriend after the academy (“And So It Goes” bad, bad sign).

After a while, he figured out somewhat of a pattern. Uptempo meant the sex would be good, but the relationship would be unstable. Ballads? The girl might break his heart. It never stopped him. Full speed ahead. The Jake Peralta way.

No one knows about it. Not any of his friends. Not even Charles. This went way beyond Full Boyle. It’s too weird, too personal. He never told any of the women he dated.

It became this private thing and it didn't cross his mind much. Until –

He looked over at Santiago to make a smart ass comment. The fall sun filtered through the windows, granting them a break from harsh fluorescent lighting. Some hookers were screaming in several different languages in the holding cell. Rihanna blared from Gina's headphones. Charles was eating kimchi and the garlic smell overpowered everything, including Scully's body odor. Another Tuesday morning in the Nine Nine.

A strand of hair had come loose from Amy's bun, but she hadn't noticed it because paperwork had demanded her full attention. She chewed on a pen cap, clearly jonsing for one of her “secret” cigarettes. She had nice full lips. And the oral fixation was an interesting wrinkle in her uptight personality. A thought surfaced in his head. If he kissed Santiago, what would her song be?

He burst the thought bubble right away. This was his partner. She wasn't a woman. Okay, she was technically. But she was a cop, first, last, and always. Sure, he flirted with Santiago, but mostly because he knew it annoyed her. Also, Gina had pointed out he'd flirt with linoleum if he could. Which was hurtful, but kind of true.

This wasn't a big deal. This was just way too many hours on the job. Holt, the new captain, demanded a lot from all of them. It put the precinct on edge. That’s all it was.

He popped in some ear buds, cranked up some Kanye. Focus, Peralta, focus.

That was the first time it crossed his mind, but it wasn’t the last.

The next time it happened, Jake was hiding out from Dr. Rossi, the crazy medical examiner ("Good Night Saigon", a song about boot camp and Vietnam? Obvious tip off the whole thing was going to be a disaster), when Santiago sauntered into the precinct. She wore the world’s tiniest pair of lime green running shorts and a black tank top. She looked hot, both sweaty hot and sexy hot. This was so unfair.

She should have been wearing a pantsuit or preferably a nun’s habit. No, a nun's habit was too close to a Catholic school girl outfit. You know, having a brilliant imagination could be a curse sometimes.

“Santiago, it’s 10 A.M. on a Sunday. What are you doing here?”

“I’m training for the New York City Marathon.” She said it in a faux casual way that triggered his super cop instincts.

“And your training run happens to involve running through the precinct?”

She glanced away. “Maybe.”

She lifted the corner of her tank top to wipe at her forehead. A single drop of perspiration trailed down her stomach (toned, but not too toned, there were some nice curves there) and disappeared into the shorts. He thought about how salty her skin might taste.

Okay, really, really not fair. His thoughts were climbing past PG-13 well into the R range.

“I see. ” He leaned back in his chair and dropped his paperwork in his lap what he hoped was a totally nonchalant manner. You got this, Jake. She's a woman. You've noticed. It's not a big deal.

"See what?"

“Holt said something about running in the marathon in the 80s. He came close to finishing in the top hundred. This wouldn't have anything to do with that, would it?”

She rolled her eyes. Yup, he was right.

He shook his head. “Joke’s on you. Holt dropped off some stuff about twenty minutes ago and left.”

“Dammit. Wait, what am I doing here on a Sunday morning? What are you doing here?”

“Maybe I wanted to get a jump start on the work week.”

She gave him her patented ‘you’re full of it, Peralta’ look.

“Okay, okay.” He held up his hands, careful to keep the paperwork from sliding off his lap. “Remember the medical examiner?”

“Morticia Adams? Oh yeah.” Amy gave him a sarcastic thumbs up. What was she doing? Didn't she know he was the funny one?

“Hey, Morticia Adams was sexy. Anyways, she wanted to start over again, go out to brunch. Like a real date.”

Santiago wrinkled her nose.  Why did he have to find that kind of cute?  “And you told her you had to work to get out of it, but she knows where you work, so you had to come in for real."

Jake nodded.

She tsked tsked. Only Santiago would make that noise in real life. “Hoist by your own petard.”

“I don’t know what that means, but it sounds vaguely sexual. I think I like it.”

She plopped down on the chair by his desk. He tried not to stare at her legs. They were legs. Body parts. She’d always had them. It's just they had been covered up before. They were lean and tan and. . . He got points for trying, right?

“Jake, if you don’t see things going anywhere, you need to tell her.” Her voice was serious now.

“I was kind of hoping she'd get the hint. ” He stared down at his hands, feeling maybe the tiniest bit like a jerk at the moment.

“Coward.”  But she said the words without malice.

“Guilty as charged.”

“If your personality hasn’t scared her off by now, I don’t know what will.”

“Thanks?” He said.

He managed to extricate himself from the whole Dr. Rossi “whatever” with one more awkward conversation, but the Santiago "thing" didn’t go away. It popped up in his head at the most inconvenient times. If it was anyone but Amy, he would have said something cute and gone for it, to satisfy his curiosity if nothing else. He didn't want to admit it, even to himself, but after their "date", it happened often. More often than it should anyways and not as a passing thought anymore.

Instead of being proactive (Hey, Santiago, can I kiss you so I can hear the voices in my head?) he decided to figure out what was left on Billy Joel’s discography. He started a mental reconstruction. What songs have been used up. What songs are left. He didn't really admit to himself why. It was another puzzle to pass the time. That was all.

Okay, he could do this. Each woman had only had one song. No song had ever been repeated. There were a bunch of drunken hook-ups in his twenties Gina affectionately called "The Learning Curve.” Some came back to him, like Ashley No Last Name Wearing a Pink Shirt In the Dive Bar (“You May Be Right”). A lot of them remained a persistent blur.

He spent a lot of time on Youtube and Google, humming under his breath and jotting things down. Thank god, he was better than hiding secret lists than Amy.

He got most of it down, even though there were a few blank spots. He was weirdly relieved there were a lot of good songs left. What if he kissed someone and he heard ABBA or Britney Spears? It might force him into a vow of celibacy. Maybe he should write a fan letter to Billy Joel making the case for a new album? It’s only been about twenty years.

He didn’t take the list with him undercover, but when they sang "Piano Man" on mob karaoke night (Wednesdays, half off pitchers of domestic beers), he flashbacked to the Natalia Imbruglia look alike in Cancun. Right after he turned twenty one. Pammy? Tammy? Brandy? Anyways, that had been a fun week. But it meant another song off the list. Not that he was thinking about Amy. Much.

When he kissed the old Italian mafia guys at the wedding, they were all “Scenes From an Italian Restaurant.” So maybe songs can repeat? But they were all men and it was not a romantic thing. Not from his end, anyways. He tried not to think about it too hard. It made his head hurt.

Then he went back to the Nine Nine. Amy was still with Teddy and everything was kind of terrible for a while. Then he met Sophia ("Leave a Tender Moment Alone", aww). The list slipped to the back of his mind, unneeded.

But life sideswiped him again. So he was sitting at Shaw’s still trying to laugh at Holt’s “Sophia Butt” joke when Amy sidled up next to him.

"Sorry things didn’t work out with Sophia. She seemed really nice and like she made you happy.” She patted him on the shoulder gently, like he might break.

“Wow. So not helping right now.”

He stared into his beer, watching the bubbles rise and pop at the surface.

"Breakups suck. I'm sorry. That's all."

He sighed. “I keep thinking what if she was the one and now I’m going to die alone?”

Amy gave out a disgusted huff. “Jake, there is no such thing as ‘The One.’” She made sarcastic air quotes to emphasize her point.

He swiveled in his bar stool and gave her a look of complete disbelief. "You’ve loved every Meg Ryan movie since the dawn of time. How can you not believe in The One?”

“Those are movies. We’re talking about real life. Real love is based on trust, communication, shared goals and interests.” She stopped when she noticed he was pretending doze off.

“Okay, but isn’t that what you had with Teddy?” It felt the slightest bit cruel to say, but he was already buzzing with beer and his mouth was working faster than his brain.

Amy frowned. “I still stand by the general principle. Besides, you can’t tell me you seriously believe in The One. Before Sophia, you were going through women like Kleenex.”

“First of all, ew, gross analogy. Second of all, how am I going to find my one if I don’t put myself out there? Love is about spark, excitement, racing hearts, tangling body parts.”

Amy made a disgusted face.

“Okay, but you know what I mean. Love is about chemistry with the other person.”

“Like what you had with Sophia.”

Ouch. “Point taken.”

She sniffed. “Anyways, my parents have been married for over forty-five years. Their marriage is all about hard work and communication.”

“Amy, I hate to tell you this, but if they have eight kids, a lot of that hard work and communication has to be between the sheets.”

“Yuck.” She threw a handful of beer nuts at him, but she was laughing.

And for a moment, the heaviness in his chest eased. A little bit.

But from then on, he made a point to avoid Billy Joel. He even stuck to listening to his classic 90s rap mixes, just to be safe. Some T-Swift to keep it fresh. His life was all about work and work was great, thankyouverymuch.

His "almost slow dance" with Jenny Gildenhorn proved the point. Okay, sure he and Amy had a flirty moment, but that was them being them. Right? So he threw himself into police work, but then there was the Atlantic City disaster. The nurses in the hospital would not stop poking and prodding him, so he was awake for the text from Gina at 4 AM. Because of course that was a reasonable time to text if you're Gina Linetti.

"Jakey, Santiago wants to bone you bad." Several emoji follow, some of which were completely baffling to him.

He considered pretending to be asleep, but curiosity got the better of him.

"Whaaa?" He texted back.

"Hang on, I recorded this for posterity/future black mail."

He was going to hate himself for doing this, but he clicked on the video the minute it loaded up.

"Amy, say that again slowly and face me." Gina's voice sounded slightly slurred.

Amy was out of focus. Her tiny frame was swallowed up by an oversized Scarface hoodie. They were sitting on some random park bench in the dark. He felt a flicker of concern and reminded himself Gina and Amy were both badasses who could handle any creep in New York.

"Jake, yeah, I don't know he's kind of cute, uh, hot. I don't know. He's doable." She fiddled with some ugly sunglasses on her head and used then to tuck back her hair. She dissolved into giggles and glanced off into the distance, embarrassed. Then her face snapped back to focus on the phone.

"Gina, are you recording this?"

"Oh look, Maggie Gyllenhaal!" Gina slammed down the phone hard and the screen went blank.

Huh.

A lot of questions zipped through his brain, but he settled for the obvious.

"Linetti, how drunk did you get her? "

"Sooo, soooo, drunk. Amazingly, it was kind of fun. She's a smitten kitten. Use your knowledge for good instead of evil. "

He debated asking her for advice. Gina? Instead he just answered.

"Hydrate well. "

"You know it. "

But he was glad he had some more time back in Atlantic City to process Sarge's lecture on work life balance. And maybe consider things with Amy. Just a little bit.

But after a full day of Boyle talking about molecular gastronomy (whatever that was), he needed a break when they got back to their room. So he took out his phone.

"Playing Kwazy Cupcakes?"

"No, I beat that game."

"I had no idea that was possible." Charles sounded impressed, but okay it's not hard to impress Charles. It's part of what makes him an awesome friend.

"It is if you drink five Red Bulls and stay up all weekend. I'm texting something to Santiago."

"You text her a lot."

"Insinuating voice." Jake said it without looking up.

"Uh-huh. And? "

Jake burrowed himself further into the blankets and tried to drown out Boyle's chatter.  He popped in some salt water taffy, trying not to gag.  Nigari flavor had been a mistake.

Okay, so he was texting Amy. So what? He was telling her a very, long convoluted cop story. One in which he was the magnificent, sexy, hero. But that went without saying.

Apparently, he hadn’t fooled Amy because her next text is "Whatever, Johnny Bravo. "

"Personal hero of mine. Better Johnny than Dora the Explorer. "

And he sent a pic of Dora, smiling with her backpack.

"Dora is a feminist role model." She added exclamation points, so he knew he really had gotten on her nerves. He laughed.

Boyle gave him the Look, but mercifully he let it go.

Jake was rearranging his desk when he came back (why did Amy always have to clean his desk when he was gone? Why? ) and a piece of paper fluttered to the floor from behind his monitor. The list. He crumpled it into a ball, prepared to toss a crucial basket and bring the Nets an Eastern Conference Championship win for the first time in ten years. But then he smoothed it out again and stuffed it in his back pocket. Then he shoved it in his dresser at home and never took it out, but he didn’t throw it away. It kind of sat there in limbo. Like a lot of things in his life.

If he had any doubt of where things stood with Amy, working with Dave Majors cleared that right up.  Jake wasn't sure he could say no if Majors asked him out, so Amy must really mean it about this 'no dating cops' rule. Rosa took him out for a beer after work and weaseled the whole story out of him.

"Maybe it's for the best.  Santiago and I would have been kind of a weird combination."

"You mean like the BBQ potato chips and Rolos you ate for lunch yesterday?"

"Hey, don't mock my own personal trail mix.  It has salt, starches, and sugar.  That's like three of the four food groups, right?"  He took a sip of beer.  "Anyways, moving on."

"So if you're moving on, why do you keep looking at her picture on your phone?"

Jake tossed down his phone down onto the bar like it was on fire.  He'd forgotten he even had it in his hand.

"It wasn't her. It was Kate Upton, I swear. In her underwear and everything."

"You took her picture the other day when she was crashed out on the couch in the break room. You said it was because her mouth was open and you were planning a prank."  Rosa cracked her knuckles. "I'm still waiting. "

"I'm working on it. "

Rosa glared.  

Okay, it didn't sound believable, even to him. He dragged the picture to the trash. "Moving on."

And then suddenly the wondering was over. He knew exactly what it was like to kiss Amy Santiago because he'd done it.

After the kissing and a super weird talk with Amy, he crawled home and crashed.

He spent a lot of time staring at the ceiling. And after about hour two of power staring, he realized two things. One, the crack in his ceiling reminded him of the Hamburglar and two, he hadn’t recognized the music when he kissed Amy. Which was weird because he remembered everything.

He closed his eyes and used the details to recreate everything in his mind. It came back perfectly. The curse of being a good detective.

The crisp taste of champagne in her mouth the first time and the feel of his hands on the small of her back. Adrenaline jumping in his veins and not because they were close to blowing their cover.

The second time there was the sensation of impact, then the rough feel of tree bark and delicate hands grabbing his face. He totally lied about her having gigantic hands.

Nope, no music.

All had he heard both times was a soft whistling sound. The only songs he could think of off the top of his head that had whistling were Zip-A-Dee-Do-Dah and that old Scorpions song about Communism.

Oh please, god, anything but Zip-A-Dee-Do-Dah. He’d hated it since third grade chorus. Although nothing else with Amy Santiago had been normal. Why would the song be?

He tried to put it out of his mind. He played with his phone. He would get as far as typing out Billy Joel discography in his browser and then close the app without searching. He did it over and over again.

The list was in his dresser. He could figure it out. Why not satisfy his curiosity?

Because you’re scared what it could mean. Okay, so he hadn’t figured out the song, but he had heard it twice. Maybe the universe was trying to tell him something.

Yeah, like he should get over this already. Amy Santiago and he were not going to be thing. Ever. He scrubbed his hands over his face and powered down his phone completely to cut off the temptation.

It took a while, but finally he slept, without any dreams, thank god.

The next day, he couldn't help it. Holt left and it was like a horrible sucker punch. When Amy disappeared, he wanted check on her and make sure she was okay. Even if she’d rather be alone. Okay, maybe it was because he was shaken and needed to see her too.

When he found her in the evidence room, he walked up to her, right into her personal space. They were close, way too close for people who were co-workers and friends. They took turns talking but the words barely registered with him. He needed to take a step back, but that would make the tension between them even more obvious. Amy was always the one who put the brakes on, slowed him down. He expected her to scoot away, but she didn't this time.

He rubbed his thumb over his palm. It was the only way he could keep from reaching out to touch her. He had never been afraid before, to pat her shoulder, punch her in the arm, even, but now every small gesture felt heavy with meaning.

She folded her arms and said, “A lot of change around here, huh?”

He glanced at her lips. And now he needed to know, really know. Right now. He can’t possibly go to his death (really cool explosion) and not know. He can’t even leave this room without knowing.

So he went for it. He was Jake Perlata, right? This time kissing her is different because it was really them and not some stupid undercover game. She reached for him without hesitation.

The song started off really soft and slow. Then Amy’s mouth melted, lips shaping to his. Her arms wound around his neck and she pulled him into her until he was drowning. She smelled like nothing more than soap and sunshine and she tasted like her second cup of coffee, but she was here and this was real. It was really happening. So he put everything into the kiss that he was afraid to tell her, everything he couldn't say yet. Time spun out to infinity. Sweet voices filled the air, harmonizing a doo wop song. “For the Longest Time." There was a rush of relief of a sense of knowing this was right and yes, of course it was this song. And he let everything go then, hoping all the songs belonged to her forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, the song I used for the title is a different Billy Joel song than the first kiss song. I thought it made a good title and I didn't want to give too much away.  
> I listened to a lot of Billy Joel while I wrote this. I watched the Season 2 end kiss scene a million times. I regret nothing.


End file.
